"Mark?" I paused in the quiet house to listen. "Mark? Are you here?"

I shrugged. My brownstone appeared to be empty, yet there was a beer sitting on the coffee table. Of course, there wasn't a coaster under the perspiring drink. Mark knows to use a coaster. What's going on? He wouldn't leave a cold beer sitting on a table. I continued into the bedroom, looking for any other sign that Mark was in the house. It was empty, but a light was on in the room directly across the hall. It was the room that had been Derek's office. Suddenly, I felt scared. Derek was still in Seattle, and I was supposed to send the rest of his things to him as soon as I got back. No one was allowed in Derek's office except him and occasionally me. I opened the door slowly, a vase from the hall in my hand as a makeshift weapon.

"Hey, Addie! I wasn't expecting you home so soon."

"Mark! What are you doing in here?"

"Well, Derek's moving out, right?"

"Yeah. I'm supposed to send his stuff to Seattle. Where is his stuff? What are you doing in here?"

"His stuff is packed in boxes, completely organized in true Derek fashion. The boxes are in the basement, ready to send."

"But why? And why are you painting this room?"

"This room is closest to yours. I thought it would be best for the nursery. It's the perfect size. Plus, the bookshelves are built into the walls, so you don't have to worry about the baby climbing on them and getting hurt."

"You're turning the room into a nursery?"

"Yes. Our little boy deserves the best, and the best is closest to where his mommy sleeps."

"Mark, don't say stuff like that! You'll make me start crying!"

"Well, can I at least put the ring on you now?"

"We just signed the divorce papers."

"So, technically, you're divorced. We love each other, and I want the little guy to have a daddy."

"Stop saying nice things."

"So, you want me to be mean to you? I'm not going to do that," he leaned over and kissed me.

"Can I help?"

"You can sit here and keep me company. I don't want my pregnant fiancée working herself too hard." As he spoke, he lifted me up and sat me on a step ladder.

"I can help. It won't hurt him."

"No," he pulled my shirt up just a little and kissed my belly. "Sit here and be good, preggers."

"I want to help."

"Stop pouting. Here," he handed me a small paintbrush, "You can do the trim around the floor. I'm not letting you on a ladder."

"Fine. What color am I painting the trim? It looks like you have this all planned out."

"White. I thought we'd do a 'Starry Night' theme. I even found crib bedding that is the same pattern as Van Gogh's painting."

"That's cool. I really like that idea."

We worked on the nursery for a while then stopped for pizza. When we were getting ready to go back to painting, I accidentally painted Mark. He looked at the white stripe on his t-shirt, then back at me.

"You didn't."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just turned around and you were right there."

"You painted me. Now, I get to paint you back."

"Okay. Paint me."

"Hold still," he walked over, lifted my shirt, and drew a smiley face on my stomach in blue paint.

"Hey, now! That tickles! Let me paint on your stomach."

"No, way!" he dropped the brush on a drop cloth and ran out of the room with me on his heels.

I chased him through the house and finally cornered him in my office. He held up his hands in mock surrender, a big, goofy grin on his face. I walked over to him and smacked him hard.

"What was that for?" he squawked, rubbing his backside.

"You painted my son!" I pointed to my blue skin.

"He likes it. See the smile?" Mark tried to run away again.

"Mark! You're impossible and exasperating and immature and…and…I love you!" I caught him as he tried to get past me, and we fell into the floor, laughing.

"Addie, we can make this work. You make me happier than I've been in a really long time."

He smiled down at me from our position on the floor in the hall. My head fit perfectly in the crook of his arm, and lying there, with him half on top of me, felt so right. I put my hand over my stomach, and Mark covered it with his. Sigh.

"So, when is this little guy going to start kicking?"

"I'll be able to feel him in about two weeks. It will be a few more before you can though."

"I can't wait."

A/N: What do you think? Probably won't be all love and cuddly. There will be some…or lots…of drama. You tell me.